Category Archives: Motherhood

Hush Child

Hush child,
Close your eyes,
Shutter out the world
and let the stillness fill your mind.

Hush child,
Hold my hand,
Feel its warmth and strength
and know the might it can withstand.

Hush child,
Take a breath,
Let it fill your lungs
and feel the lightness lift your chest.

Hush child,
Lean on me,
Let me take your hurt
and be your rock when you’re in need.

Hush child,
It will pass,
Pain is part of life,
But rest assured that it won’t last.

Little Green Fingers

With heat lapping at my nape
and soil beneath my nails,
I take a momentary break,
to watch you hunt for snails,

OK, you shouldn’t be weeding
in the shoes I bought last night,
But barefoot in the seedlings?!
My heart dances at the sight!

I love the frown of concentration
as you try to dig a hole,
And the instant fascination
as worms tickle at your toes.

Pleasure sparkles in your eye,
Like crystals in the breeze,
When you spot a carrot that is ripe
and crouch to pull it free.

Then we pour lemon from the jug,
Rest our backs against the lawn,
And I delight inside your hug
as you turn to me and yawn.

Your voice, a soothing hum,
Vibrates against my chest,
“I love to garden, Mum,
But I think I need a rest…”

 

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a ‘pastoral’ poem as it’s Earth Day. I chose to write about gardening. The poem is about my daughter and me, but it’s also reminiscent of my mother and me as I think I inherited my green fingers from her!

Questions, Questions

Did you buy me any more crumpets?

Did this laundry pile somehow get bigger?

Can I have chocolate for breakfast?

Can you please not kick your sister?

 

What costume shall I put on?

What shall I put on for lunch?

Can you be my pretend robot patient?

Can you please remember we do not punch?

 

When are we going to the park?

When did I say the plumber is due?

Can you be the baby wolf in my game?

Can you please give me a minute or two?

 

Have you seen Snakey or Jasper?

Have you two seen my handbag?

Can I have some strawberry milk?

Can you please just go ask your Dad?

 

Why can’t I have another biscuit?

Why is this room such a mess?

Can you make me a house for my Teddy?

Can it please wait ’til I’ve ironed this dress?

 

What are we having for dinner?

When did we run out of bread?

Can you draw me a big Hello Kitty?

Can you please hold on – no not his head!!

 

When will you sew on my scout badge?

When can I run to the shop?

Can you get her to say that she’s sorry?

Can someone please pass me the mop?

 

Who broke my Lego helicopter?

Who moved the shopping list from the fridge?

Can we play cards or a board game?

Can I please quickly chop up the veg?

 

Why can’t I have three bedtime stories?

Why don’t we sing a quick lullaby instead?

Can’t I stay up a teensy bit longer?

Can’t you see Mummy’s in need of her bed?

 

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem that takes the form of a dialogue. As I was about to sit down (for the first time today) to work out what to write my daughter came in and asked me to get her some milk, and voilà! Inspiration in abundance! Can anyone else relate…?

 


P.S. The answer to my [in hindsight very poorly written] riddle poem yesterday was that the first two letters from each line spelt out the end of a famous Frank A. Clark quote “life is made of little things”. The whole quote is actually one of my favourites: “Everyone is trying to accomplish something big, not realising that life is made of little things.”…. Don’t think I’ll be writing another riddle poem any time soon!!!

A Heart Full of Willow Blossom

I plucked catkins tenderly from a willow,
To show how love captured me when you were born,
I filled the sea endlessly with blonde billows;
No drop unadorned,

They broke the banks, wondrously swathing the land,
With hundreds of heavenly starbursts of gold,
For when you so helplessly searched for my hand,
Your hand found my soul.

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem in Sapphics. It’s quite a formal style of poetry with a certain structure and meter (click the link above to find out more). While I’m not sure that I followed the rules perfectly – or even at all – I do like the end result.

Cold Toast

When some things are changed,
They are changed for good,
Cold toast is not bread,
And ash is not wood.
When I looked at you,
Selfishness ended,
All thoughts of me were
promptly suspended.
When you looked at me,
With innocent eyes,
I knew I was changed,
Completely revised.
There’s nothing at all,
Not one single thing,
No war I won’t fight ,
No neck I won’t wring,
No thing I won’t do,
Dear daughter, dear son,
Cold toast is still toast,
And mums will be mums.

Pip Talk

Why are you trying so hard to fit in
when you were born to stand out?
Why dress up in another fruit’s skin?
You’re an apple; of that there’s no doubt.

Your uniqueness is to be embraced,
Differences make this world grand,
If all fruits had the very same taste,
Life would be terribly bland.

You can make cake and crumble and sauce,
And then there is cider… and pie,
There are smoothies and juices of course,
You can bake, you can stew, you can fry.

It’s great to be so truly appley!
Why on earth would you sell yourself short?
Attempting so gosh-darn unhappily,
To change who you are at your core?

Please let go of all of that worrying,
Do away with all of that doubt,
Don’t try oh so hard to fit in,
When my sweet apple, you were born to stand out!

napo2014button2This poem was written for NaPoWriMo. Today’s challenge was to write a poem for a child. I strayed ever-so-slightly here and made a more light-hearted summary of a serious conversation I had with my 8-year-old son recently. He told me he didn’t want to be black any more; he wanted to be white, like his friends, so he could fit in. This piece is dedicated to him…

…and I’m sure all of us can relate to feeling different at one time or another – for any number of reasons.

“Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out?”

– Ian Wallace, What a Girl Wants

Musings of a Crummy Mummy

Has this top shrunk?
Or am I getting fatter?
(We both know the answer,
but what does it matter?)

My children have toys
and food and clothes,
So who cares if my jeans
are all covered in holes?

And yes my hair’s messy,
What’s a brush? I forget…
At least the stray birds
will have somewhere to nest.

My nails are all split,
They’ve been naked for months;
My polish has gone hard
and my file’s at the dump.

I’m never alone,
But who needs five minutes peace
when you have
constant,
incessant
NOISE
that won’t cease?

Do lunch?
Yes I’d love to,
I’ll pencil you in,
How’s January 10th 3010?

But although I complain
– And at times I despair –
They are worth every wrinkle
and every grey hair.

The Trade

What would I trade for all the joys
of raising girls, of raising boys?
For all the sleepless nights and such?
For all the pain (there has been so much)?
For all the hugs and laughs and fun?
For the times I’ve all but given up?
For the times I’ve dreamed the ‘what could be?’
But feared the lack of strength in me?
For all the anger and sheer frustration
and the thanks for which I’m still here waiting?
For the times my heart has yearned to reveal
all the good – and bad – I feel?
For each loving,
precious,
healing
kiss?
There’s nothing that I’d trade for this.

Ode to the Sick Mother

Your head is pounding,
Your muscles; they ache,
You’re hot and you’re flustered,
You’re in need of a break,
You’ve got sick in your hair,
You’re covered in snot,
You’re eyes are all puffy,
You’re sweating – a lot,
You have a mountain of laundry,
An overflowing sink,
The kids all want dinner;
You just want a drink,
To all the sick mothers,
Who feel lousy and blue,
It may all seem thankless,
But you’ll make it through,
I’m with you in spirit,
I’ve felt the same,
You’re never alone,
I feel your pain!